


October

by RedgraveQueen



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 21:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedgraveQueen/pseuds/RedgraveQueen
Summary: Six months after he death of her partner, Serena is struggling to handle her grief, until a  sting of ghostly emails from her partners account turn her world upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s dark. So very dark. The bright nights of summer are a distant memory. I’m almost glad. This summer was the hardest of my life. watching couples;wandering hand in hand, having picnics, cuddling outside of cocktail bars has been insufferable. My lover died almost six months ago. Her precious body never discovered, never returned to me. Never laid to rest. Lost. 

Heat starts to build inside of me. Anger consumes me then hurt drowns it out. 

My beautiful, precious girl. 

A gust of wind takes me by surprise and I find myself clutching the wall to my right. I wish she was by my side. I wish I could talk to her. I wish I was at home. Every night, I send her an email. I tell her I love her. I miss her. That she never leaves my mind. Then I tell her about my life. About what’s happening... mostly just boring ramblings. Nonsense. Whatever’s floating through my brain. Somehow, it makes me feel better. Closer to her. Less guilty, for what I did. 

Because, you see, what happened to my lover was entirely my fault. 

Leaves crunch under my feet. Autumn used to be my favourite season. The golden trees, warming fires, cozy nights in. I seldom experience any kind of enjoyment these days. 

I am glad when I reach my front door, spelling the end of another tiresome day. The silence of the house is somewhat pleasing but also incredibly lonely. Sometimes I wish Jason and his tribe still resided with me... at least I wouldn’t be coming back to an empty home.I head straight to the kitchen and poor myself a large Shiraz... feeling better as the deep red liquid fills my glass. Knowing that it will blur my thoughts somewhat... soften the edges. Knowing that soon I’ll feel a little bit better. 

I shovel my tea in at the kitchen work top then find relief in unclipping my bra and sliding it from under my blouse. I consider a bath but think better of it, knowing being alone with my thoughts and no distraction would be a bad idea. I opt for a quick shower instead. I close my eyes and tilt my head back- revelling in the feeling of the piping hot water spilling over my body... washing away the anxieties of the day. No amount of water could wash away the pain that pulses through me constantly. And I wouldn’t want it to. I wouldn’t want this longing for her to dissolve. She doesn’t deserve that. It would be an impossibly anyway. 

I shiver as I step out. The autumn chill is definitely creeping in now. I pull my dressing gown tightly around me and crawl beneath my duvet, pulling my laptop onto my knee. I open my email account, fathoming my thoughts into sentences, pondering on what I want to say to her. 

I rub my heavy eyes, struggling to focus on the screen. I am surprised to see a symbol next to last night’s email. 

I click on it. A double tick. Seen. 

Seen. 

My heart begins to quicken as my throat grows dry. 

Seen. 

Somebody has accessed Bernie’s email account. Somebody is reading the messages I’ve been sending her... my deepest thoughts, secrets, feelings. 

And now, three dots in indicate that they’re typing something back to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Heat begins to rise in me and I push my computer off my lap. I cannot bear to look at it, my brain filled with images of my private musings being exposed: Stolen. They were for Bernie. Her only. The only person I could open up to with such things, in death much more so than I did in life. I pull her journal from its resting place under the pillow beside me; the pillow that should have been hers. Bad enough were the thoughts of that woman Alex, reading her words, her poetry, her plans. Pouring over words and pictures meant for me. But Bernie’s thoughts were always coded, cryptic, poetic. My words have been raw and plain. Bare. 

If only I’d been so truthful with her in life. If only she had been with me. If only we’d been brave enough to open up properly, to share our feelings. Our deep emotions. Our adoration. 

The feeling of regret is unbearable. It descends over me like a heavy mist, blurs all rationality, stilts my brain. Then it condenses into something more like treacle, so thick and dense I’m sure it will suffocate me. But it never quite does. I wade myself through it then, wonder why I’ve bothered. I think of talking to Bernie about this then remember with a feeling of nausea that my life line has been taken away. 

A deeper nausea rises in me as I have a sudden suspicion… maybe it’s her on the other end of the line. Alex. Maybe she’s somehow stumbled across Bernie’s log in details… somehow tapped into her account. That women seems so weirdly involved with the tragedies of the past year… so tangled up. Strange, Bernie had never spoken highly of her. She wasn’t even mentioned in the journal. Yet, apparently they’d been engaged? I wince at the thought. 

If only we’d both had a little more patience. 

A noise outside heightens my senses. I swing my legs out of bed. The cold, hardwood floor meeting my bare feet seems to ground me, bring me back into life. I must stop this. This wallowing. Self pitying. It isn’t helping anyone and in all honesty, I really don’t deserve to feel sorry for myself. I take a deep breath and reach for the glass on my bedside table, relaxing slightly as I pour more alcohol into my system. I carry my drink with me, over to the window, where I make a crack in the curtains and peer out onto the dimly lit street. I open the window a little, not minding the rain streaming down the pane and press my face into the gap, taking pleasure in the cold night air. 

I jump. Another noise. A sort of ‘bumping’ from somewhere below me. In my front garden. My security light flashes on, casting an eerie yellow glow over the square of dark, unkempt grass. I’m sure I sense some movement at the side of my house and open the window further, straining my neck out to increase my visibility. The light flashes off, signalling only that whatever was lurking in the shadows has moved from the mere few metres that it’s motion sensor covers. 

I decide maybe I’m being dramatic. Just my overactive imagination playing tricks on me after the stresses of the evening. I pull the window to, leaving the gap in the curtains and turn back to the laptop, screen glaring at me from the creased bed sheets. 

I curl myself onto the bed slowly, biding my time. Putting off what I know I need to do, to investigate, to solve.

I’m just about to take the plunge when something prevents me. 

I raise my hands to my face as a blood curdling screech breaks the silence. 

For a moment I am paralysed. 

I all but leap back over to the window, thrust the curtains back open. The security light is back on. Something is moving but it’s not human, I’m relieved to realise. 

I take the stairs two at a time, throw my feet into my slippers and fumble with my key in the lock. 

My cat, Poppy. She’s bloodied, has obviously been fighting.

I scoop her into my arms and carry her back into the house, setting her down on the sofa to assess her injuries. 

Please. 

I utter a silent plea to whomever it may concern.

Please. I can’t lose anything else. 

I consider the emergency vets but on further inspection decide past experiences are probably causing me to be rather dramatic. After patching her up and providing some TLC, I decided she’ll probably be alright, I’ll monitor her closely. 

I’m just about to retreat back upstairs when my phone buzzes, illuminating the dimly lit room. 

It’s an email. I can avoid it no longer. There are a few from work and such but only the last one catches my attention. 

Serena? It’s me. Bernie. There’s been a misunderstanding. So many misunderstandings. I haven’t had time to read through the emails, not yet. But I feel the same, sweetheart. I miss you. I love you. I always have.   
I forgive you, Serena.   
Don’t be frightened.  
Talk to me.   
B x


End file.
